Off Road
by everybetty
Summary: Nick and Grissom go camping...sort of. NickGrissomBrassWarrick friendship and some trace evidence of GSR if you 'shippers know where to look! NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is my first ever fan fic and I have been inspired by some of the great stuff I read here to give it my own try. I am late to the CSI bandwagon, but the S5 finale blew me away. I used to just watch the episode if it looked like Nick might get more than two lines… but have since caught the reruns on Spike, and thanks to my DVR I am caught up to mid season three. Nick is obviously my favorite, and I especially like the weird relationship he has with Grissom. ( note Slash tends to make me "squicky", to borrow a term, so any slash you read into it is all in your head, you dirty bird! J )

Spoilers: episodes thru mid season 3 if you haven't seen them ! Pretty much after Assume Nothing.

Disclaimers: looks like from seeing the others, I have to advise y'all that I do not own a single teeny bit of the show, but if I did, it would be all Nick, all the time!

The phone rang and rang. The lab was busy, as usual, and the receptionist, Judy, was trying to step away from her desk, saying she had to use the Ladies' room. Actually, she was trying to get away from Hodges, who seemed to loiter around her desk quite a bit more than comfortable. He always sounded so pompous, and the things he would say to try to impress her always left her wanting to stifle a giggle, or stifle a gag. This time he was trying to wow her with his impressive knowledge of the chemical makeup of edible underwear and the gag part was what was coming up, so to speak. She asked him to make sure to answer the phone, "Las Vegas Crime Lab", and pointed to a list of extensions posted above the phone. He smugly advised her that he was more than up to the challenge of answering a phone, thank you. So off she scampered to the bathroom, running to scrub away the memory of Hodges and his leering looks while he described exactly which chemical compound made the cherry flavoring.

The phone rang and Hodges looked at the multitude of buttons. "Can't be that hard," he figured., and punched the one that was flashing. "Las Vegas Crime Lab," he said, but what his voice said was "You are taking up my valuable time, what do you want?"

"This is Sheriff Green, up in Humboldt County. We got ourselves a little mess we sure could use your folks' help on. Think you could send some of your people up here?"

"Humboldt County?" Hodges said, voice dripping with contempt. "All there is up there is rocks and alkaline lakes, and maybe the occasional bear. What do you need the Crime Lab for?"

"Well if you'll pardon me, sir, we may not have much more than you described, but what we _do_ have is a couple of dead bodies."

"Meth lab shootout?" Hodges asked, dryly, "or did a bear eat them?"

"Well I guess I need your expertise to tell me that, now don't I, son?"

"Yes, well, I guess I can pass on your request, Sheriff…?"

"Green-that's no 'e' on the end."

"Okay, Sheriff Green, no 'e', I'll get someone right on this. It'll take them a good several hours to get there…" his voice trailed off as though he was hoping the Sheriff might just say never mind- let's call the whole thing off, but the sheriff just answered, "I'm at the Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge substation in Dufurrena, that's about thirty miles west of Denio."

"And a hundred miles from any form of real civilization…" Hodges muttered under his breath.

"What's that son?" the Sheriff asked, though he was pretty sure he heard him quite well.

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to plot your location for our 'folks'. I'm sure someone will be up to see you within the next several hours."

"I'll be waiting," the Sheriff replied, but he figured he was probably wasting the county's long distance on this.


	2. Chapter 2

The next shift was just starting and Grissom checked out the roster and saw he had a full staff on for a change. Warrick and Sara had finished up yesterday with their armed liquor store robbery where the unfortunate soul behind the register had decided to try to be the hero and had pulled out a shotgun from behind the counter. The clerk hadn't even realized it wasn't loaded until it was too late. Nick and Catherine were waiting on some DNA results running through CODIS in Greg's lab. He wandered about the office, poking into various rooms, visiting with Archie who had just picked up _DS9 Season Four _on DVD and was completely psyched about it. Grissom hadn't watched anything on TV since PBS ran _La Boheme_, so he couldn't contribute much of his own enthusiasm. He wandered up front where he found Judy looking profoundly uncomfortable while Hodges leaned on her desk.

"Judy? Everything copasetic here?" he asked while looking pointedly at Hodges.

"Yeah, thanks Dr. Grissom. Ummm… I don't think I have anything new for you. No calls have come in."

"Hodges? Don't you have trace from the liquor store robbery to work on?" still looking pointedly at the still leaning lab tech.

"Um, yeah, Boss. Actually, while Judy was _away from her desk _I took a call from some sheriff up in Humboldt County." Grissom could figure out why Judy was away from her desk.

"And….?"

"Well he said something about dead bodies and asked for a CSI team to head out there."

"What about the bodies? Head out where?" Grissom asked impatiently.

"Well…it was a bad connection. I didn't get much more. But I did get the location he's waiting at - some bird sanctuary up towards the northern border."

"Sheldon National Wildlife Refuge?"

"Yeah. That's it. You've _heard_ of it?"

"Give me the information that you actually got, Hodges," Grissom said with an audible sigh. _ I think I know exactly who would like to come with me._

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Nick and Catherine were hovering over Greg's computer, watching the animated icon he used of a dagger that covered with blood, then dripped, then started all over again.

"That's sick, even for you, Greg," Catherine said with a grimace. "What's wrong with a nice normal hourglass like everyone else uses?"

"Exactly! Just like everyone else uses. Besides, this is more appropriate to the work we do here, dontcha think?" Greg asked with a smile.

Nick just shook his head and smiled. He glanced up and noticed Grissom walking their way. He had been on the Big Guy's shit list since he flapped his gums to his old baseball buddy, Kenny, and had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He figured the only way to avoid the shoe dropping was to stay out of the man's way as much as conceivably possible, or at least make sure one of his team members was there if Grissom was.

"Hey, Grissom," he said with a feeble smile as his boss entered the room with his own very odd smile on his usually unemotional face. "Just waiting on our results from CODIS," he said quickly, just to make sure Grissom didn't think they were slacking.

"I know, Nick. Actually, we have a call out at the Sheldon Refuge. Thought you might like to join me?"

Nick was torn. _Boss is asking me personally. Kinda nice. It is an amazing place- could add a few birds to my life list…but then Grissom might know I _have _a life list! Plus it would be hours trapped in the truck with him…plenty of time for "talking". "Talking" about me and my big mouth. But how can I say no?_

Grissom now had an amused smile on his face. He had a pretty good idea what was going on in the younger CSI's head, and he found it interesting to witness one man's battle with himself. He waited patiently for Nick's response and was gratified to hear, "Sure, Grissom. Sounds great." And the smile on Nick's face looked genuine.

"Great, " Grissom echoed. "Load up your stuff in the truck. We're headed out."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: My first review and it was greatly appreciated! At my astute reviewers advice, I have cleaned this up a bit for clarity. And the action will kick in in the next chapter. Hope you enjoy.

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Nick and Grissom loaded up the Denali with their equipment. Since they weren't really sure what they would find the truck was stuffed with electronic equipment, some lab glassware, and miscellaneous pieces whose purpose Nick wasn't even that sure of. He hesitated as he felt the keys in his pocket. Would Grissom want to drive or would he want him to drive? He saw his boss walk to the passenger side with his large leather bag on his shoulder so Nick walked around to the driver's door and got in. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed out, Mapquest directions in hand. Nick's hand immediately went to the radio controls, then pulled back in case Grissom wouldn't like the radio on.

_Damn! This is weird. Why am I so paranoid about hanging with Grissom? We've handled hundreds of cases together and it's never freaked me out so much. _

He knew why though…he had felt so badly about letting his boss down. When he and Warrick saw the news reports referring to "sources at the Crime Lab" leaking information on their case, his heart had dropped into his stomach, and his stomach dropped somewhere down in his nether regions. _Stupid! _Kenny had seemed so harmless. Realizing that they were leaving the downtown area and their eyes already had less to look at on the roadsides, Nick punched the radio on and fumbled for a song he thought Grissom wouldn't find too offensive.

One hour down, and the side of the road was desert as far as the eye could see. Scrub trees and the occasional agave cactus. Grissom hadn't said more than two words so far, and Nick wasn't encouraging any talk. He punched the scan button compulsively. If a song came on he liked he'd listen for a few bars, but then he thought it might bug Grissom so he would forward past it, limiting their selection to inane golden oldies and news. As they got further away from Vegas the stations got harder to find and the scan would sometimes take a full revolution before stopping on a religious station playing Christian music, or an easy listening station playing Mariah Carey and Celine Dion.

"Nick. You do realize that we will eventually run out of range of most radio stations, especially once we hit the mountains?" Grissom asked with a cocked eyebrow. "You know, silence _can_ be golden."

"Sorry, Gris. Guess I just like music while I'm driving."

"Did you bring any CDs with you?" the older man asked.

Nick tried to run through the discs he had in the truck. Didn't think Gris would like Alan Jackson or Dwight Yoakum. Definitely wouldn't like Tool or The Beastie Boys. _REM_ _? Nah. The Eagles? Maybe?_

"Ummm… yeah. Do you like The Eagles?"

"Nick. I was a college student in the 70's. You couldn't _not_ like The Eagles."

Nick tried to keep the grin from his face as he pictured Grissom in graduate school. Long hair and side burns. Butterfly collar and flare legged jeans. Then he mentally amended the picture to put Grissom in a corduroy jacket with leather elbow patches and a pair of round Beatles glasses. He then tried to picture him sitting on campus under a tree, studying an anthill, and taking the occasional hit off a joint.

"Nick?" Grissom broke into his reverie. "Are you going to put in the CD or what?"

"Umm, yeah. Sorry. It's in that case there if you'll grab it." He watched his boss open the case and begin to look at his music selection. He saw Grissom studying the spines, looking for familiar names and finding none. Then he pulled _The Eagles Greatest Hits _out of the case and stopped at another CD.

"You like the Moody Blues?" he asked with a skeptical look on his face, as if he thought the younger man might have included it just in case his boss was ever looking.

"Yeah. I like them a lot. You?" Nick asked equally skeptically, as if the older man was patronizing him.

"Yes, Nick. I do. You know they wrote an entire album based on Dvorak's _New World Symphony_."

"Yeah! _Days of Future Passed_. An amazing album," Nick said with a smile. "We can play that one next."

_Maybe this wasn't going to be such a horrible trip after all Nick thought with a mental shrug as they drove off to the beginnings of Glen Frey singing "Take It Easy"…Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy …  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Late afternoon, and the desert had given way to rolling hills and scrub brush. They stopped for a fill-up at a small station at the foot of where the real mountains begin. The attendant told them they were the first people he'd seen in a few days. It was spring, and the roads to the Refuge, he warned them, could be spotty, what with the rains, so there wasn't much tourist activity yet. When Nick went in to see what the "store" part of the station had in the way of beverages he noted a preponderance of dust on most of the merchandise. The bottled water looked safe enough and he grabbed a couple out of the fridge, an offering to his boss and an attempt to continue the good will vibes he'd been working on.

As the Denali wound its way up the mountains Nick found it ironic that now that there was so much to look at around them, he had to concentrate on the road. As they got higher they could catch glimpses of deep canyons and a large alkaline lake surrounded by marshes. The music had long ended but neither of them felt a need to put anything else on; their surroundings were more than enough to occupy them. The scrub of the lowlands was now being replaced by copses of aspen trees and even mahogany trees. The roads were narrow and off to their side there was often a steep drop-off. You could see where the rains had washed away at the road edges in places.

They were looking for their next turn-off and both had their eyes peeled for some kind of signage. A small wooden sign with an arrow and the words "Sheldon Refuge" tool-burned into it came up quickly and Nick braked and swooped into their turn, eliciting another cocked eyebrow from his co-pilot.

"Nice driving, Mario," Grissom said dryly. "I know this is an SUV, but that doesn't mean we have to go off roading in it."

Nick just grinned sheepishly and kept his eyes to the road.

………..

A half hour or so later they had begun to reach the summit of one of the bigger mountains. The substation couldn't be more than a few miles away they figured. The road was narrow and treacherous and to the other side was another deep canyon. The rains had done a number on this piece of road and the guide rails, where they existed, were rusty and leaning in places. Unfortunately, Nick had to drive at a decent clip just to keep the lumbering truck moving upwards and onwards.

"Grissom. This Mapquest is useless. Have you ever been up here? Any idea how close we are?" Nick asked, a small amount of nervousness slipping into his voice.

"No. But this _is_ a national refuge, and tourists _do_ come here, so I can't imagine it could be too hard to find, Nick," Grissom said, a small amount of patronization slipping into his voice. He was actually a bit concerned about the state of the road himself, but he would never let the younger man know it.

They began to round another bend when a "Bang!" was heard, then a heartbeat later a second much louder "Bang!" as the front tire of the Denali exploded. Nick hung onto the wheel, attempting to keep it on the road but their speed and the crumbly shoulder was fighting against him. The last thing he thought of as they went over the side was Grissom joking about going off road.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you for your kind and helpful reviews. KatKnits00- like you I am also a big fan of Nicky-whumping (smile) and I assure you, their problems have just begun…hope you continue to enjoy, as I am pleasantly surprised by how much fun I am having writing this.

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Late afternoon had turned quickly to looming dusk as days do in the spring. Hundreds of birds that had taken to the air when they had been disturbed by the encroachment of a two-ton metal beast were finally settling back down to their roosts. Some of the birds were disgruntled to find that said beast now occupied their former perches. Fate had been relatively kind to the two CSIs; the Denali had rolled several times but its descent had been cushioned and slowed by the thick tree growth on the side of the embankment and it came to rest on its passenger side in the tops of several old knotty pines. The beast had not yet disgorged its occupants.

Nick opened his eyes, expecting to see Grissom to his right. Instead, he found his boss below him. The view disconcerted him to the point that he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember what had happened. There wasn't much- just a loud bang and trees and an odd feeling of somersaulting. He slowly reopened his eyes and tried to figure out what was going on. He realized that he was hanging in his seat by his seat belt, his side being cut into by the sharp reinforced fabric. His airbag had deployed and he had the telltale burns on his face to show for it. He quickly did a once over on his limbs and head and realized that except for the pain in his side he was pretty much intact.

_I guess the pain in my side is worth it since the stupid belt probably saved my life he thought ruefully. _

His next thoughts turned to his mentor. Grissom was also awake and appeared to be struggling with his own belt, the passenger side airbag also deployed and the same small burns on his face. It appeared that the passenger side fender area had been crushed in and the older mans legs were trapped below the glove box.

"Gris? You okay?" Nick asked. He was still hanging from his belt and he almost chuckled as he saw his boss look left - then realize that the voice had come from above him.

"I think I'm okay," the older man replied slowly. Then he amended that when he realized the state of his legs. "I appear to be stuck though, and my right ankle hurts. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. A bit hung up myself, but I think it's all good. Wow. Off roading, huh? Bet you're kicking yourself for that joke now, huh?" he said as a smile worked its way onto his face. The realization that they had survived relatively unscathed was just dawning on him and he hadn't yet been fazed by their current predicament.

"Yes, Nick. Very funny," his boss said, his own dry smile on his face. He quickly put a damper on the temporary humor by asking the obvious. "Any thoughts on how to extricate ourselves?"

"One step at a time, Gris. One step at a time."

_First things first, Stokes. Get. Out. Of. This. Friggin'. Seatbelt. _

He grabbed the driver armrest and pushed the button, releasing the hated seatbelt. It opened after a few attempts and he clung to the armrest, bracing himself on the center console. He pulled his feet out and planted them on the dash and the passenger seat, suspended over his boss. He scanned the damage to the glove box area and realized that he couldn't fight gravity and pull Grissom up towards him. He'd have to see if he could get the passenger door open and find out if he could get his boss out that way.

He turned about and tried the driver's door handle. It seemed the door would open so he pushed it up and open, holding his breath to see if the movement would jostle the truck. So far so good- the trees seemed to have a firm embrace on the vehicle. He clambered out the door and onto the driver side of the SUV. He scanned their surroundings, first looking up to see how far they had fallen. _Holy crap._ He then looked down and was gratified to see that they weren't that far from the ground, relatively speaking. The trees grew from the bottom of the canyon and it was the height of the trees between them and the blessed ground. He worked his way over to the nearest tree and was relieved that it was a pine. He remembered climbing trees as a kid back on the Stokes family ranch and pine trees with their radial branch growth were always the easiest to navigate. He stepped off onto the closest branch and lowered himself limb by limb until he was below the Denali. This was the fun part. Stepping onto a branch under the truck he forced himself to climb under the vehicle, two tons of steel hanging precariously above him. He maneuvered himself over to the passenger side door and rapped on the window under Grissom's head.

"You ready?" he yelled through the closed window. "I'm gonna open the door. There is a branch below you but try to brace yourself for when your weight is no longer being supported." He saw the older man nod his head and place his hands on the console and the crushed glove box. Nick then grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open as far as it would go before its movement was impeded by the nearest branch. He reached in and slipped his hands under his boss' armpits. "Gris, do you think you can push yourself out if I help?" The only response to his question was a grunt of assent and the older CSI's grabbing the now open doorframe. The two struggled to pull Grissom out and they each groaned as their respective aches and pains amplified with their efforts. The older man, finally out and balanced on one leg on their branch, allowed himself a sigh of relief and turned to look at his liberator. The younger man's face was pale and covered in small cuts and scrapes from the tree branches, and the aforementioned airbag burns, but it also had a big ole' shit-eating grin plastered on it. He found his own face forming a smile to mirror the other and reflexively found his hand stuck out and offering a handshake to his protégé. "Thanks, Nick."

Nick was surprised by the obviously impromptu offering and returned the handshake, placing his left hand on his boss' shoulder. "No problem, Boss. Remember this next Evaluation Day would ya?" he asked with a chuckle. "Think you can work your way down the tree?" he asked doubtfully while looking at Grissom perched on the branch like a flamingo with his other leg raised above the limb.

"Only one way to find out, Nick," he replied and lowered his foot down to the branch. He winced a little but it looked like it would support him, at least temporarily. "I think it got twisted when the passenger compartment was crushed, but it'll do for now." The older man gamely grabbed onto a limb and began to lower himself down through the tree, the younger man shaking his head at his boss' stubbornness.

_The Big Guy still has some surprises left in him._


	6. Chapter 6

Full dark was rapidly descending; the darkness thankfully lightened a bit by a gibbous moon suspended over the canyon. They'd lose the moonlight soon enough and they busied themselves setting up as best as they could. Nick had climbed back up and salvaged what he could from the Denali: the bottled water, some granola bars he had in his glove box- mangled but intact, a grey woolen blanket, the first aid kit, and the Mapquest directions. He clambered back down and joined Grissom seated on a fallen log.

"Dinner is served, sir," he said as he presented the bottled water and granola bars with a mock waiter's flourish. "Sorry. No T-bones or French fries but this'll have to suffice." Grissom accepted the proffered items with a small smile. "This'll do just fine, Nick."

They chewed and drank wordlessly, each taken with their own thoughts on their situation. Nick, of course, was the first to break the silence. "I tried the cell phone, but as I figured, there's no service this deep. In the morning I'll climb up higher to see if I can get reception." Grissom nodded, secretly doubting the young man would be able to climb back up that steep slope. His keen mind was already trying to work out a plan to get them out, but with his bum ankle and the wild terrain, it was going to be tough. "Hand me the Mapquest directions, would you please, Nick?" He reviewed the map that printed along with the driving directions. It appeared that the canyon in the direction they had been driving became more shallow and increased in elevation as it approached the area where the substation was. Unfortunately, it was still very far and would undoubtedly be rough going.

_Maybe it would be best to stay put and see if someone comes to get us…_

Nick broke into his thoughts. "Grissom. You know, I don't think the Denali's tire blew out on its own. I remember a loud noise _before_ the tire went. You think someone took a shot at the truck?"

Grissom nodded slowly. He had been putting off discussing that added variable. If the sniper saw them come down and escape from the wreckage then they might still be targets. "I think we have to assume that someone might not have wanted us to show at the ranger station, Nick." Damn Hodges! He needed more information and the smarmy lab tech's lame excuse about a bad connection left more than a little to be desired. "Do you have your service piece?"

Nick sighed as he realized it was back up in the Denali's center console. "Yeah, not on me exactly," he said while pointedly looking up at the still suspended wreck. "Anything else you can think of that you want so I can make this my last trip?" he asked with a facial expression half smile, half grimace. He really didn't want to climb back up again; his side was killing him and he came back with more scratches each time.

"Sorry, Nick, but I really think it would be prudent to have a weapon," Grissom said- the unspoken part was that Grissom, of course, couldn't make the trip himself, and even more so, he wasn't carrying his own gun.

Nick allowed the unspoken to remain so and gave his boss a small smile and headed back to the tree. The tree that had saved their lives, and he hated it more with each climb. Reaching up and grabbing the lowest limb he pulled himself back up into the branches with a wince and a flash of pain in his side.

When he returned carrying his 9mm he had to admit, he felt better with it there. He hunkered back down onto the log and collapsed with a sigh. A fire sure would have been nice, but seeing as how neither of them smoked, and he wasn't up to hunting for flint or two sticks to rub together, they would have to do without. He fantasized about using the cigarette lighter in the truck to light something and bring it back down, but he was hanged if he was going back up to the truck and the logistics of such a plan were a bit too much. Besides, wouldn't do to let their 'friend' out there know they were up and about. He glanced over at his boss who was working his ankle around, checking its range of movement. "Hey, Gris. You want me to splint that for you?"

Grissom smiled gratefully at him but shook his head. "I think my boot will keep it supported enough. It's swollen a bit and I laced it up tight. But thank you."

Nick nodded and realized they didn't have much left to talk about for now. He wanted to ask his boss what kinds of plans he was developing in that giant brain of his, but didn't want his mentor to think that he was counting on him to get them out of this. So he slid down and leaned against the log, settling his head back to look up at the stars.

An easy quiet settled over them and neither had spoken for several minutes when Grissom, quite uncharacteristically, was the first to speak. "I'm afraid I've never been good at small talk, Nick," he said without looking at the younger CSI.

Nick smiled.

_No shit, Sherlock! _

What he actually said though was, "No problem, Gris. You know I grew up in a family of seven kids- including five older sisters. The house was always packed with people. My sisters were always bringing home the boy of the week and my mom who was a PD would sometimes bring home some of her defense clients. Those were some fun dinners, let me tell you. Biff and Chip or Chad or whoever from the local college sitting there making eyes at whichever sister they were dating, with my dad staring daggers at them. Then when Mom would invite her clients to dinner, there would be some barely detoxed junkie at the table. Not really fair to the poor slob. Dinner with The Judge. Just what you want when you're strung out andjonesing." Nick laughed a bit at this point. "My dad would stare at them, then ask them to recite their record, reminding them he could check on it if he wanted to. He'd then ask them if they were happy with where they were in life. What was their life plan? Do you think you get another go around? Life isn't a trial run, son. There are no do-overs." Without realizing it, his voice had slipped down an octave and his Texas accent had deepened, as his voice unconsciously became that of Judge Stokes. "Man, I always felt so badly for the guy. Probably wishing he was back in a nice 10 x 10 cell instead of breaking bread with my old man."

He chuckled then but a bit self-consciously. "Any way, I would usually try to slip out most nights. I'd grab my rifle and my dog, and a book and a flashlight and head out. And I mean Out. As far as I could get. I'd settle down and read for a while. Sometimes I'd fall asleep and I'd catch holy hell from my folks when I'd return at dawn." He smiled gently at the memory. "Point I'm trying to make, Gris, is that I am perfectly content to sit here for the night in silence if that's what you'd prefer. No dog. No book. Got my gun, though!" he laughed.

Grissom nodded in response as he reflected on the snapshot of Nick's childhood he'd just been granted. His own family life couldn't have been more different if he'd been raised by wolves. He thought back to his mom and the long conversations they would have; no words- just a blur of hand movements. His mother's hands would always reveal her current mood. Normal happy mom was a slow and graceful swooping of her slim pale hands, cheerfully repeating those more complicated signs that her just learning young son had difficulty with. Pissed off mom's hands would slice through the air in brusque choppy bursts, and heaven forbid he didn't pick up on what she was trying to say. He actually learned most quickly then; trial by fire so to speak.

He considered sharing these memories with Nick, but realized that while he'd been reminiscing the younger man had apparently fallen asleep. Surprising as they were not normally accustomed to sleeping nights with their late shift work, but maybe not so surprising considering the workout Nick had gotten between rescuing him from the truck and climbing the tree repeatedly. He envied him briefly, then realized that if he slid down and rested his own weary body against the log he might be able to join his companion in slumber. He grabbed the wool blanket and threw half of it over Nick's legs; the other half over his own chilled body and laid his head back.

_I'm sure the sheriff will have called someone by now. Hopefully the cavalry will ride in tomorrow and get us out of here._

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Sheriff Green hit the light on his watch. Remembering the contempt in the voice that had answered the phone he figured no one was gonna show up. Damn! He knew his call had been a big waste. Hotshot city slickers couldn't be bothered to show. He'd try Carson City CSI in the morning. Those bodies weren't going anywhere for now. He got into his Wrangler and set off for home, hoping Mrs. Green had finished making her homemade chicken soup. If he was lucky, she had baked a loaf of sourdough to go with it. He was cold and tired and pissed off and gunned the Jeep down the road, never noticing the broken shoulder off to his side in the dark, and headed for home.


	7. Chapter 7

The log wasn't as comfortable as it first appeared. Grissom found himself sleeping fitfully and waking with a start every time he heard a branch snap or an owl hoot. It was a far cry from his neat and tidy Craftsman-style bungalow, with its walls lined with books and terrariums filled with his assorted insect and arachnid friends. And his bed… he thought of his 400-percale sheets- a luxury he would never have admitted to anyone. When you spend a third of your life in a bed, sometimes you need to splurge a bit.

After several hours of sleeping and waking he finally gave up trying and sat up and checked his watch. 4 AM. Still hours away from dawn. He glanced over at Nick. The younger man was still reclined against the log with his eyes closed but there was something about his face that didn't quite look relaxed enough for real slumber. He considered speaking to him, but realized that if he _were_ sleeping that he'd regret waking him up.

_Let him enjoy a few more hours of rest. Something tells me the cavalry isn't coming as I hoped and I think we've got a bit of a journey ahead of us…_

Grissom had been keeping an eye out for headlights and helicopters- some sign that someone up there was looking for them. Nothing. He thought back to the initial phone call that had started their little adventure. Hodges. It all went back to Hodges.

_I'll bet he said something to the sheriff that pissed him off enough to figure either we weren't really coming, or worse, that we didn't show but he doesn't give a rat's ass. Probably the latter._

He mentally pictured the map he had studied the night before. Then he shifted and tried working his bad ankle around. Stiff, but a little better. Maybe. Would have to be better. They needed to start out at daybreak if they wanted to try to make it to where he thought the substation would be before the next nightfall. He really didn't relish the thought of another night in the woods. He leaned back on the log and shut his eyes. Maybe he could sleep a couple more hours…

…

Nick leaned his own weary body against the log. He had been keeping vigil pretty much the whole night. Figured it was smart since he was the one with the gun, and they didn't know if their 'friend' was still around. He had also been scanning the sky and the roads surrounding them, looking for headlights or house lights. Nothing but darkness and trees. The stars were sprinkled as heavy as sand on a black velvet background. Normally, were he here voluntarily, he would have loved laying here and taking it all in. The solitude. Such a far cry from Vegas- the city that _literally_ never sleeps. But they weren't here voluntarily. It was cold and damp. His side felt like Evander Holyfield had used him as a punching bag for ten rounds. The granola bar was a distant memory now and he wished he hadn't been so picky back at the gas station. He'd gladly eat a stale microwave burrito right now.

And then there was Grissom. He was torn. Part of him wanted Grissom to sit up and say, "Nick. I've figured out a way to use twigs and moss to build a super antenna for our cell phones. Help will be here soon." The other part was kinda sick of being rescued and especially by his boss. He reflected on what he referred to as "The Hendler Incident", at least when he thought about it. He tried not to do that. Think about it. Too much. Cuz that usually lead to uncomfortable memories of "The Crane Incident" and he did _not_ need to be thinking about that now. He was determined to offer a solution to their problem. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that waiting for help that might not come, and continuing to stay here like sitting ducks for the friendly neighborhood sniper was not their best option.

They'd probably have to start walking for the substation. And he wasn't too sure the Big Guy was up to it. Grissom was in good shape but he was no spring chicken anymore and had that bum ankle.

_Maybe I should leave him my weapon and take off on my own …_

He looked at the gun he'd had firm in his hand the whole night. Checked the safety. Checked the cartridge. Then he went to lean over to place the gun on Grissom's lap, and let out an involuntary groan when his side protested the abrupt movement. He saw Grissom sit up with a start and immediately look over at him. He couldn't read the expression on the man's face in the dark, and hoped maybe he could pass it off, so he cleared his throat. "Sorry, Gris. Didn't mean to wake you. Just stretching a bit. Getting the knots out. Go back to sleep."

Grissom could no more see Nick's facial expression than Nick could see his, but he did notice the younger man's face reflected awfully palely in the ambient starlight. "I wasn't sleeping, Nick. Are you okay?"

Nick pasted on a smile that Grissom couldn't see on his face, but hoped he'd hear in his voice. "I'm fine. Just stiff. We did just get banged around in a giant Denali dryer, you know. I feel fluffed and folded."

Grissom couldn't help but chuckle at the inspired metaphor. He guessed the younger man couldn't be doing too poorly if he still had his quick wits and that Texan sense of humor.

Nick eased back and put the gun back in his lap, retaining his grip on it. Maybe he could just convince Grissom in the morning to let him go get help.


	8. Chapter 8

6AM. Not yet dawn, but the sky was definitely lightening and had a mountain not been in the way, the two men would have seen the barest beginnings of pink at the horizon. Venus, the Morning Star, was high in the heavens and Nick recognized it as a harbinger of daybreak. He glanced over at Grissom and saw that his bosswas awake and staring at the sky himself. So much for taking off without the Big Guy knowing.

_Gonna have to use your smooth talking, Stokes. Convince the man it would be best if you left him here to wait to see if help shows up. You're good at talking to people- your one real skill. Use it._

"Hey, Gris. Sleep well?" he asked with a grin. "You're a lucky man, wearing that beard," he chuckled, rubbing a hand over his stubbly face. "This itches. First thing I'm gonna grab when I get home is my razor. Then again, maybe I'll grow a beard too, huh?"

Grissom tried to picture the young man's strong jaw covered by a bushy dark beard. "Nah. You'd look like a lumberjack. All this back to nature stuff is getting to your head."

Nick laughed and nodded. "Okay. But I changed my mind. After we get back I eat everything in my fridge-_then_ I shave!"

"Tell you what, Nick. When we get back, pancakes are on me."

"Sure thing, Gris. You are making the Big Boss' salary after all." Nick laughed more at that thought. They all knew they didn't do this job for the big paycheck. "You know, I've been thinking. As the Big Boss, maybe you should stay here at our little crime scene. Secure it, you know?" _Lame, Stokes. _"Besides, you know the captain isn't supposed to be part of the Away Team."

Grissom stared at Nick like he had suddenly switched to speaking in French.

_Good, Stokes. Star Trek references. If only it was Archie you were trying to convince. This is going swimmingly. Hey! I'm trying here! Not doing so bad considering no sleep, no food, and this knife stuck in my gut. Damn! Cut me some slack!_

Grissom's stare only increased in intensity as he saw that Nick was obviously trying to put together a coherent thought. His concern grew and he felt he'd better break up the fight, internal though it may be. "Nick. If you're trying to suggest that we split up and you go for help, may I remind you that we have only one gun?"

"Well, I was gonna leave it with you, Gris. I've been thinking on it and I'd have to admit, I'm not gonna get very far if I try to scale the canyon back up to the road, but it can't be more than twenty miles to the ranger station if I walk that way," he said, gesturing with his head in the direction Grissom had been plotting earlier. "If I walk at an average of three miles an hour and start out now I should be there by this afternoon. Call in the troops and get our butts home." He finished with a big smile, hoping his perceived enthusiasm would close the deal.

"Well, I can see you've thought about this…but I have no desire to sit here and wait on this log. I may be older, but I'm _not_ feeble, for Pete's sake. I can keep up with you. I also think we will find that it is closer to thirty miles, Nick. And I have even less desire to sit here when nightfall returns, thank you. We go together, or not at all. Plutarch wrote in his _Apophthegms of Kings and Great Commanders_that King Scilurus on his deathbed, being about to leave four-score sons surviving, offered a bundle of darts to each of them, and bade them break them. When all refused, drawing out one by one, he easily broke them, —thus teaching them that if they held together, they would continue strong; but if they fell out and were divided, they would become weak."

It was Nick's turn to stare at his boss. _And I was using Star Trek analogies! _"Grissom, Man. You lost me at Apophthegms. But I get what you're saying. Together we stand, divided we... yada yada. I hate starting out a journey without a hearty breakfast, but I don't guess we have much choice. Not much to pack up, at least," he finished with a smile.

Grissom hated to put a damper on the younger man's good humor, but he had been thinking about it at length and knew he had no choice but to ask for the one thing he'd been dreading to ask. "Nick, unfortunately we have one major stumbling block. The water here is all alkaline. While some alkalinity is safe, too high an alkalinity can be dangerous to drink. And we aren't walking thirty miles without a water supply. We have a way to check the pH of the water here, but I'm afraid it will entail another climb."

Nick sighed. "Litmus paper. Back in the truck. Looks like I bond with the tree one last time." He rose slowly from where he had spent the night, leaned up against the log. He favored his side, but made a show of stretching his arms and legs. Rocked his head back and forth, working out the kinks. Cracked his knuckles.

_Okay, Stokes. Stop stalling. Go. Climb. Can't believe I used to do this for fun._

He returned a short time later, though his trip seemed to take longer each time. He brought back with him a vial of blue and pink slips of litmus paper and a dandynew scratch that ran the length of his face from ear to chin. Feeling the deep scratch and pulling his hand away to look in the new dawn light at the fresh blood covering his fingers, he realized that he probably wouldn't be shaving any time soon.

_Lumberjack, huh? I might have to stop off at Walmart and pick me up some flannel shirts._

Grissom silently opened up the first aid kit and offered it to Nick, who shook his head. "Nah. It's just a scratch. And it's so long I'd need to cover my face in ten Band-Aids. Nope. No more stalling, old man. Let's hit the road."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the "old man" jab, clambered to his feet, and set some weight on his bad ankle. No pain, no gain. Isn't that the adage? Whose adage? Probably a sneaker company ad exec's. He looked Nick in the eye. Was he reading his own pain into the inscrutable expression on his partner's face?

With a final sigh he gestured towards their destination.

"_A journey of one thousand miles begins with but a single step."_


	9. Chapter 9

_Well it certainly feels like a thousand miles_ was Nick's silent response after they had been walking for a few hours. It was now full morning in all her glory and the sun had emerged from over the mountain and beat down upon the two beaten-down men. They walked in silence, taking turns leading and following. Grissom had found a sturdy branch to use as a walking stick, which helped. A little. But the ground was rough and steadily increasing in elevation. They had each removed their outer jackets and rolled their sleeves to the elbows but the exertion and sun had left both of them hot and tired. They had found a stream that fed off the alkaline lake they had seen earlier in the trip, but their Litmus test showed that the alkalinity was too high for the water to be potable.

When he thought Nick wasn't looking, Grissom lifted his ankle off the ground, massaging it, trying to will away the pain. When Nick saw Grissom distracted by his ankle he would rub at his sore side.

_Don't we make a pretty pair?_ Nick thought_. Each of us too damn stubborn to admit we're hurting to the other._

"Hey, Grissom. I think there're some aspirin in the first aid kit. You want a couple two three?"

Grissom debated turning them down, but playing the tough guy wasn't getting them anywhere fast. He knew he was holding Nick back and cursed himself for insisting he come along. Truth was, he was telling the truth when he'd said he didn't relish being left back at the wreck site on his own for another nightfall. Imagine that. He didn't want to be alone. It was a new sensation that he didn't particularly care for.

"Yes, Nick. I think some aspirin may do the trick. It is after all an anti-inflammatory, and my ankle is quite _inflamed. _On fire actually" he said with a smile. There. You've admitted you're not Superman. Your ankle hurts, damn it.

Nick stopped and opened the first aid kit and got out an old ratty looking bottle of generic aspirin. _I wonder how long this has been in here? _He opened it up and shook out three for his boss. "Sorry. No water to wash 'em down with." Grissom just smiled and dry swallowed them one at time, grimacing at the bitter taste they left in his mouth. Nick debated taking some himself, then closed the bottle up and put it back in the kit. "You ready to roll?"

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Sheriff Green was a pissed off man once again. He had been on the phone all morning with Carson City trying to see if they had CSIs they could send out, but budget cuts had left the capitol short-staffed and they couldn't promise they could get anyone out any time soon. He'd been lectured not to touch the bodies - _fat chance that'd happen_- and asked to secure the crime scene as best as possible. _They have no idea what this crime scene looks like, or where it is…_nothing could be done about securing _this_ particular scene.

Now it was late afternoon and much as he didn't want to admit it, he was gonna have to try Vegas again. He called and this time a squeaky but professional voice answered. "CSI Crime Lab, this is Judy. How may I direct your call?"

He started by identifying himself and Judy broke in, "Oh. You're the man Dr. Grissom went up to see."

That made him pause for a moment. "No. Actually, that's why I'm calling. No one ever showed last night and I still have two dead bodies here. I need advice on what to do with them."

Judy had been there when Hodges had passed on the call the day before and knew Dr. Grissom had made arrangements to go up to meet the sheriff. "Can you hold for a moment, sir?" Without waiting for the man's response she punched the hold button and dialed an extension. "Detective Brass? Ummm…I have that sheriff from up in Humboldt County on the other line. He says Dr. Grissom never showed up last night? He _did_ go up there, didn't he? … … Detective Brass?"

Brass was struck dumb for a moment, his mind racing. "Yeah, Judy. He went up there with Nick Stokes yesterday. I saw them leave. Put the sheriff though to my line. And call Ms. Willows. Tell her to get over to my office. Now."

Brass was finishing talking to the sheriff when Catherine rushed in. She stopped and stood tapping her foot, waiting for him to get off the call. He hadn't even gotten the receiver back in its cradle before she started asking him what was going on. "Judy calls and tells me Grissom and Nick are missing?" She reached to her waist and pulled free her cell phone and began dialing Grissom's cell. _"The caller you are trying to reach has traveled outside a calling zone. Please try your call again later." _She tried Nick's and got the same response.

Brass in the meantime was already making his own call to the State Police. He had a BOLO put out for the two men and the Denali and asked that it be passed on to each of the county sheriffs' departments between there and Humboldt. Sheriff Green had already promised they'd begin looking up their way. He had felt so badly that he hadn't called last night and had apologized to Brass several times before the end of the call.

They were both off their calls, and mulling over what to do next when Warrick and Sara came in, talking over each other, asking what had happened.

_News sure travels fast in our little lab. Must've been Judy,_ Catherine thought. But she couldn't deny she was happy the two were there. Four heads might be better than two.

The three criminalists waited while Brass brought them up to speed. Warrick had a few choice four-letter words for the Humboldt County Sheriff but Brass raised a hand to stop him. "The guy felt bad. I think it was a genuine miscommunication. Look. We know they left here yesterday afternoon. Highway Patrol has no reports of any accidents involving a black Denali, so we know they made it as far as the main road would've taken them. The roads from there go through no man's land up in the mountains. Green has promised he'd have his men scout the roads, but there's an awful lot of country to cover up there."

Warrick was the first to volunteer to head up there. He began to tell Brass about his work being caught up, nothing hot pending, but Brass had been expecting this. He knew all three would want to head out immediately, but he also couldn't leave the lab completely staff-less. He knew the next words out of his mouth were going to make someone very unhappy, but heavy is the head that wears the crown…

"Warrick. You and Sara can go up there and help. I'm assigning you to the scene Grissom and Nick were going up to run. Catherine…" he tried to speak over her expected protests. "I need you to stay here. You're senior now, and I'm going up as well. I need to leave you here in charge … hold down the fort here, Cath. Please. And tell Greg that if any calls come in he can go out with you. Sara, Warrick- get your stuff and let's go." They left with promises to call the minute they knew anything. And Catherine was left with her morbid thoughts and fears for her friends.


	10. Chapter 10

Late afternoon. The trees around them cast long shadows, mirroring the shadows over each man's thoughts. The steadily increasing elevation of their path was rough going on the two of them, and they were each struggling mightily to keep up the pace they knew they needed to make it to the station before dark. Nick's original statement that they could do three miles an hour was turning out to be a futile assumption. Still, he figured they had made it twenty of the thirty miles Grissom had been right about. _Of course he was right about._

They hadn't been any luckier with the water situation either; the alkaline stream they had found hours before being the last sign of water they had seen. They were pretty far up now and Nick still held out hope that they might find a small stream coming down the mountainside that would give them what they so desperately wanted.

They paused for another rest; both aware that this was only slowing their progress further but each figuring the other needed it. As Nick cast his eyes up to the sky he noticed several birds high up, floating on the afternoon thermals. _Are those what I think they are ? …_

"Hey, Gris. You see what I see?" he asked, eyes steady on a point up in the sky ahead of them.

"I don't know, Nick. What do _you_ see?"

"Turkey vultures."

"And…?"

"Well, Boss. You know your bugs, but I know my birds. And where there are turkey vultures there's usually carrion. I'm thinking maybe our crime scene is up ahead."

"_Well then, lead on worthy MacDuff, and we shall take upon what else remains to do, according to our order."_

"Shakespeare this time?"

Grissom nodded. "Very good, Nick."

……………

They had picked up a bit of speed; having a goal so apparently close lightening their footsteps. Nick kept an eye on the sky and the flying beacons of death. As they reached the area below where the birds circled they slowed a bit, not sure what they would find or where they would find it. As they entered a small clearing dominated by a great ancient tree they knew without a doubt that they had found the source of the vultures' delight. Two bodies, one noticeably smaller than the other, were tied to the tree with heavy rope. Scavenging animals and insects, along with the aforementioned vultures had been feasting on the remains but even the actions of the wildlife couldn't disguise the manner in which the two had died.

_Not died. Been killed, _Nick realized.

The men each had a bear trap clamped on their leg. A shotgun was leaned against the tree next to the first, smaller man…_body…_and the second shotgun was on the forest floor next to the larger. The second shotgun had been used. On the larger man's head. Most of his face had been shot off; the damage easily recognized by the two criminalists.

The larger corpse was dressed appropriately for cool weather in the mountains- flannel shirt, vest, heavy denim jeans, and boots. The smaller corpse was wearing an expensive looking LL Bean kind of shirt- the kind that looks warm in the catalog but is more for appearance's sake. It was worn with a pair of khaki Dockers and rich leather Italian loafers.

Nick and Grissom crept closer, trying to take in what they were seeing.

"Grissom, I've seen some odd crime scenes before but…wow. This is one for the books." His voice had dropped to a murmur, conscious of the fact that _someone_ had obviously done this to the two men. Unless it was some kind of weird suicide pact. The bear traps made Nick strongly doubt that's what transpired.

As they got closer to the bodies they were able to get a better look at the men they were before…well. Just Before. Animal and insect activity had disfigured the smaller man's face but his features were still Oriental in appearance. The larger man was burly and bearded, and his face was completely obliterated. His remaining flesh and the beard lead to the conclusion that he was probably Caucasian.

"So we have an inappropriately but very nicely dressed Asian man on a mountainside with Grizzly Adams?" Nick asked.

"We have something else, Nick." Grissom had wandered a bit away and was half squatting, half leaning on his makeshift crutch, staring at the ground. "We have what appears to be a fresh grave."

Sure enough, there was a large area of freshly turned earth, barely covered over by leaf litter. A small pile of stones had been arranged at one end.

"_Curiouser and curiouser…"_ Grissom mumbled to himself. _"I wish we had our equipment. But necessity being what it is…"_ he began to dig in the dirt.

He had gotten a few feet down, Nick pitching in to help. Both men absorbed in their efforts, they failed to take note of the approach of quiet footsteps.

"Disturb not the grave! It is that of one of God's favored children."****

The two looked up to see the arrival of a man with a long beard and wild dread-locked hair. He held a high-powered rifle aimed at them. They stood, arms held away from their sides, staring at the man who had spoken so strangely.

"I see you survived your trip down the mountainside. Perhaps it is better this way. You can join your brethren in Hell!" the man said, gesturing towards the corpses.

"Sir, I'm Gil Grissom, and this is my associate Nick Stokes. We don't know who those men are. We were called to investigate their deaths."

"Liar! You came in the same gas-guzzling monstrosity, spewing your filth into the air. You came to take more of His children. Murderers!"

Nick spoke up. "We're scientists. We just came to check on what happened to these men. Do you know what happened to them?"

"They murdered an innocent. They were smote down in the eyes of the Lord."

Grissom paused a moment, forming a thought. "May I ask with whom we are speaking?"

"You may know me by my actions, and the sanctification I received by our Lord God.

I am Saint Francis of Assisi."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I had already written the opening prior to reading the most recent reviews. And some of your responses to the end of last chapter were eerily similar to how our boys responded to our mystery man's self-professed declaration of sainthood. Funny how that works sometimes, eh?

7/10: editted for formatting (at a kind reviewer's suggestion) and a teensy tiny plot point.

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_Oooookaaaay,_ thought Nick. He'd lived below the Bible Belt long enough to have a smattering of religious education, and he was at least pretty sure Francis of Assisi lived a long time ago. A really long time ago. And he was pretty sure that said saint didn't live in the mountains of Nevada. And most importantly, he'd never heard of any saint that carried a rifle. Nice scope on the rifle though. Must've cost a pretty penny. The scope also meant that, had there been any doubt, they'd found their sniper.

_It's déjà vu, all over again. Certified nut job? Check. Gun pointed at me? Check. Yup. Same shit, different day. _

Nick glanced over at Grissom. The two exchanged raised eyebrows. Nick looked questioningly at his boss.

_You wanna take this one?_

Grissom looked back at the faux-Saint Francis. Talking to the certifiable was a skill for shrinks and hostage negotiators. Grissom was neither, and his social skills had never been described by anyone- least of all himself- as stellar.

_Let's give it a shot…Saint Francis was the patron saint of animals; preached to the sparrows, right? _

"Well, Saint Francis. As I explained, we are not here to harm any animals. We are not hunters. As you see, you are the only one here with a gun." He raised his empty hands to illustrate the point and a quick glance at Nick confirmed his hope that the gun was concealed somewhere on his person, not readily seen. It was the one small advantage they had.

"I saw you. Your transport was the same as these others. Your presence disturbs the innocents. Had I not robbed you of your vehicle, you would have entered the forest with guns. That is the only reason your kind enters these woods."

"That's not true!" Nick said vehemently. Grissom darted him a look. Don't piss off the man with the gun. Nick continued, "People come here to revel in the wildlife, not kill it. There are almost three hundred kinds of animals on this refuge. Two hundred of them are birds. In fact, we followed turkey vultures here. I don't know if you've seen the rest of the world lately, but it's getting packed with people, Man. Sometimes you just have to escape to a place where it's quiet and peaceful and it's just you and God and nature. That's why they _have_ places like this."

The armed man lowered his gun slightly in response to Nick's speech. Grissom was looking at Nick with something resembling admiration. Nick was a bit surprised himself at how it had flowed from him; how strongly he felt it.

"These men came with greed and lust in their hearts. Do you carry these sins in your hearts?"

Before Nick could answer Grissom did. "Of course I do."

It was Nick's turn to look at his boss with a face that struggled to maintain its serious façade.

_I'm sorry…did Grissom just admit to having lust in his heart? Mr. I am the Bug Man, koo-koo-ka-joo?_

A brief image of a gap-toothed smile shot across the bow of his mind and was gone. _Just when I thought the surprises were over…_

"You surprise me. While He knows all that it is in your heart, it is surprising to find a man who so readily admits it to a fellow mortal."

"_He who is without sin shall cast the first stone_ was Grissom's even response.

"John 8:7. Well, the only one who can truly see your intentions is our Lord. You shall be tested as these men were," and with that he gestured with the gun over to the tree. "They were weighed and measured and found wanting. "

………………………………...

Brass and the rest had arrived at the substation, and, as promised, Sheriff Green was waiting for them. Introductions exchanged, he quickly explained the reason for his original call. "A ranger on patrol found an abandoned SUV. A black Denali, actually, I think. We've had a bit of a problem with poachers lately. There's a big market in Asia for certain animal parts; bear pancreas in particular. They make some kind of aphrodisiac out of it. Whatever. He stumbled upon a couple of dead bodies tied to a tree with bear traps clamped on their legs. The one body looks like a suicide, he said. Anyway, he ran the plates on the SUV and it came back to a rental place in Denio, hired by a Marcus Chang. Corporate account, billed to Red Dragon Imports, LLC. Ranger said one of the men looked Asian. It's probably him. Don't know who the other one is…was."

Brass had raised his eyebrows at the sheriff's mention of the black Denali. _Odd coincidence or…? _

"All right. Rick, Sara. We'll take the scene. Maybe it'll help us with what happened to our guys."

Warrick was surprised that Brass was accompanying them to the scene. "Brass, don't you think you'd be better off helping with the search?" He looked meaningfully at the sheriff and a rather slack-jawed looking deputy leant up against the patrol truck.

The sheriff caught the look. "Don't you worry, Mr. Brown. You go do what _you_ do best, and we'll do what _we_ do best. We know this refuge and won't leave a stone unturned, I give you my word on that."

That settled, the sheriffgave them directions to the scene and a walkie-talkie. Was only a mile or so into the woods, he said; shouldn't take more than a half hour. The three double-timed it into the woods, hoping that their efforts would help them find their friends.


	12. Chapter 12

The man known only to them as Saint Francis gestured the two men over to the tree. He ordered Nick to untie the rope holding the two corpses to the trunk. Nick's sweaty fingers stumbled over the large clunky knot. His mind was working as furiously as his hands, trying to think of a way to get themselves out of this mess. He was conscious of the gun tucked in the back of his pants, put there when he realized that where he normally wore it at his side was too painful. He had managed to keep his back from out of their captor's view and held onto its presence as a sole source of comfort. It looked like Grissom's brain and his mouth weren't gonna hack it. Maybe cold steel would.

He tried talking to the madman, his voice sounding surprisingly collected. He'd had an unfortunate amount of practice talking to psychos while they had weapons pointed at him. Who'd have thought this would be a recurring motif in his relatively short life? Third time's the charm maybe?

"What do we have to do to prove to you that we aren't here to harm the wildlife?" he asked.

"It is not to me that you must prove your intentions; it is only for God to know what is in your hearts and minds. I am but his instrument."

"Then why did you so this to these men? Wouldn't it be for God to determine their fates? Did God tell you to tie them up and kill them?"

"I did not kill them. Their own sinful hearts did that. I tied them to the tree, placed the same traps on their legs that they used to murder the innocent, and left them there. The big man ranted and railed. Used ugly obscene language and blasphemed our Father's name. His words were angry, full of threats of dark violence. The smaller man had only greed and lust in his heart. He offered money for his release -money he had made selling the bodies of God's children to satisfy the base lusts of the flesh. As if I could be bought off with a bag of silver. I am no Judas.

No_, Vengeance is _mine_, sayeth the Lord. _The men were left alive and God and their sinful hearts determined where their salvation lay. When I returned days later it had been decided. The big man took the sinner's way out and had killed himself. I know not what happened to the smaller man, but he too was dead upon my return. You shall be weighed and measured in the same way."

Nick could picture what had happened. The pain and blood loss from the bear traps. Being left in the woods for days, no hope of discovery. The big man was a hunter. Knew what would happen eventually as the smell of blood and their immobility drew even the more timid predators closer and closer. Took his own life rather than risk being alive and tied to a tree while devoured by coyotes or the very same bears they had been trapping. The smaller man had probably died of shock and blood loss. And it looked like that was what their friend had in mind for them.

He'd gotten the rope untied and the two corpses slumped forward after their release. The man with the rifle gestured to Nick to move their bodies out of the way. Moving slowly and stiffly he grabbed the smaller corpse and pulled it away from the tree, grimacing at a flare of pain in his side. He returned for the bigger man knowing it was going to be tougher to haul his huge bulk away. He grabbed the leg without the trap and dragged it away. Sweat popped out on his brow and as expected, new fresh pain lanced through his side. He staggered a bit, then composed himself and looked to their captor for his next instructions.

Grissom meanwhile was reoccupied with his own silent efforts, still trying to get into the madman's head. It was obvious that this man felt that his hands were clean and that God had been the reason the men had died.

"Saint Francis. I must ask. How did you expect these men to be saved? You say that vengeance belongs to the Lord, yet you were the reason they died."

"I merely left them here for the Lord to judge. Their deaths were His decision."

"These men died because _you_ placed metal traps on their legs. They died because _you_ left them tied up in the wilderness. They died of shock and blood loss due to _your _actions. They didn't die at God's hand; they died at _yours._"

"The Lord saved Jonah from the belly of the whale. The Lord brought Moses out of the desert. The Lord would have saved those men if they had been righteous. And the Lord will save you, _if_ you are as righteous as you claim to be."

With that he waved Grissom over to the tree with the barrel of the rifle.

"Sit. And you will tie him to the tree with the first length of rope," he said, turning the gun at Nick.

Grissom eased himself down to the base of the trunk. Nick attempted to protest, but the gunman mutely stopped his protests by twitching his finger near the trigger. Nick glanced down at Grissom with regret and apology in his eyes. His boss nodded at him. He knew his friend had no choice. Nick wound the first length of rope around the older man's chest, doing it awkwardly as he was sore and trying to keep his back out of sight. His first go round he left the rope slightly slack, but the gunman was looking for this and ordered Nick to tighten it.

The next thing their captor did sent a chill through Nick's heart. He walked over to the nearest corpse and stepped on the trap's release lever, opening the jaws, and yanked the trap free. He began walking towards Grissom with the trap in his free hand, the rifle still trained with one hand on Nick. Nick knew that the man's aim would be severely affected by the loss of the other hand, but at such close quarters, aim didn't really factor into the equation. The gunman threw the trap at Grissom's feet and returned his hand to the weapon. Nick knew what was coming next, and by the look on Grissom's usually calm composed face, the older man did too.

Nick knew there was no way he'd put that on his mentor's leg. He'd rather be shot than cause that kind of pain to another human. And not just another human. It was _Grissom_. How many years under the man's supervision? Every action the younger man had taken in his professional life was an effort to make his boss proud of him. The man inspired that effort, not with words, but with his actions. When Kristi had been killed and Nick was the closest thing they had to a suspect, it was Grissom who had stood by him. It was Grissom who bumped him up to CSI level three and recommended the promotion. It was Grissom who rallied the troops and inspired all of them. And it was Grissom who had saved him from Amy Hendler.

The gunman pointed at the trap and ordered Nick to place it on his boss' leg. Nick merely stood there shaking his head. "No, sir. I won't do it. I wouldn't use it on an animal, and I certainly won't use it on my friend. Shoot me, if you're gonna, and get it over with. But this ends _now_."


	13. Chapter 13

"I'd have to agree. This does end NOW!"

The words came not from their captor, but from the woods behind him. The gunman whirled in their direction and Nick reached for the gun in the back of his jeans. Pulling it out in one fluid motion and thumbing the safety off, he aimed and held his stance. The gunman spun around and held his own rifle pointed back at Nick.

From out behind the trees Brass, Warrick, and Sara entered the clearing, guns held pointed at the madman as well. They had come upon the scene and heard enough to figure out what was transpiring.

Four against one. But Nick didn't want this man dead if they could help it. He was obviously not in his right mind, and in his twisted way he was doing what he thought was right.

Brass took another step forward, gun never wavering from its target. "I mean it. This ends now. Put the gun down. Nicky? Grissom? You guys all right?"

"Yeah, Brass. Nice timing. May I introduce you to Saint Francis of Assisi?" Nick said with a wry smile.

The gunman was shaking, rifle still pointed at Nick. "Demons, sent by Lucifer! I was right! As Job was challenged, so am I. Lord, lead my hand! Tell me what you will have me do! I await Your Heavenly command!" He then began to mumble to himself, his ramblings too low to be heard.

Grissom spoke up from his position at the base of the tree. "Saint Francis, you told us that God delivered Jonah from the belly of the whale. God sent an angel to lead Moses and his people from the desert. I believe that these are _our_ angels."

Brass and Warrick raised four eyebrows at this pronouncement. Sara's face was unreadable.

The gunman stopped his mutterings and looked up with feverish eyes. The rifle's aim faltered for the first time since their standoff.

Nick realized there might be only one way to prove they meant no harm to the man. He pulled his gun away from its target, then slowly bent over to place his weapon on the ground, scowling briefly at the pain it elicited. He gradually stood back up and held his hands out at his sides.

The gunman watched Nick's actions, then looked from him to Grissom and back again, disbelief evident on his face. He turned slowly towards Brass and the others. They tightened their grips on their weapons, but waited to see what he did next. He backed up slowly to the edge of the clearing, never taking his gaze off of them. As ready as they were for a sudden act of violence they were taken by surprise when he darted into the thick underbrush to disappear from view. Warrick aimed his gun and began to take off after the retreating figure but Brass laid a hand on his arm stopping him.

"What the hell are you doing, Brass? That psycho was gonna kill these guys! We can't let him run around the woods armed!"

"Rick, you may know Vegas like the back of your hand, but this is his 'hood. I'll radio up to Green and get him and his men to track him. Let's just check on our boys, shall we?"

Sara had already run over to Grissom and was undoing the knot. When he stood she briefly considered a hug, then thought better of it and settled for a big smile.

Nick had a matching smile on his face and heartily shook hands with Brass and Warrick.

"Whoo-boy! That was fun. Man, you guys really know how to make an appearance!"

"What the hell was that all about?" Warrick wanted to know.

"Oh, Man. If I knew, I'd tell you, but that guy was a few cards short of a full deck." His relief and high spirits were contagious and the others found themselves caught up in it.

"You mean a few fries short of a Happy Meal, dontcha?" Warrick asked.

"Nah, man. You know I don't eat Mickie D's."

"Well, if you two are done coming up with clever euphemisms for the mentally ill, I think we should get out of here." _Leave it to Grissom to harsh our mellow_, thought Warrick.

Brass lowered the walkie-talkie he had just used to call the sheriff. "Green has some men close by. They're coming to get us and lead us back out to the substation."

Grissom, in the meantime, had retrieved his makeshift crutch and was leaning heavily on it. Their adventure had taken its toll on the older man and he was exhausted, mentally and physically. Sara looked at him with concern, but he gave her a small smile. "Twisted my ankle. It's fine."

A short time later three deputies appeared. Brass quickly filled them in on what happened and they each got on their own radios, rounding up the troops.

"Sirs, if you'll just follow us we'll have you out in no time," said a deputy whose nametag read Whitehorse.

Grissom looked over at his team. They had begun processing the scene, professionals to the end. "Nick. C'mon. Let's get out of here."

"Nah- you go on Gris. There isn't much light left and we should get what we can before we lose it. Besides, you must be pretty damn sick of my face by now. You and Sara go. It'll be okay. I've got Brass and Rick and a deputy here in case our friend shows back up."

"Yeah. C'mon Grissom. I never was much of one for camping. Let the boys finish up. We'll go back and have a doc look at your ankle," Sara said, taking his arm gently.

………………………………...

Grissom and Sara followed behind the two deputies and true to their word, emerged at the substation pretty quickly. Grissom was surprised to see how close he and Nick had gotten actually. _Made better time than I thought._

They loaded into the deputies' truck and continued past the ranger station, descending from the mountainside on the opposite side from which they had approached. Grissom leaned his head back on the seat and sighed. "I'm completely wiped, and Nick acts like he could do another 24 hours of work. Have I really gotten that old?"

Sara gave a small smile. She never saw him as old. Not even now when he was tired, pale, scratched up, and worn down. "Adrenaline is powerful stuff. When he comes down he'll probably crash harder than you. I'm just glad you guys are safe. New rule at the lab. Hodges can NEVER answer the phone again." This pulled a chuckle from Grissom.

The vehicle came to a stop in front of a small building. A blue and white lettered sign read "Dufurenna Clinic". She helped Grissom out of the truck and into the front room. It could have been an office in any small town building- hardwood floors and a small desk in the corner. The only indication as to its purpose as a waiting room was a padded bench and chair with well-worn copies of Field and Stream and American Hunter piled on a table between them. A man with greying temples in a white coat over a flannel shirt appeared from a back room and introduced himself as Dr. Lawrence. "The deputy radioed ahead to let me know I'd have a guest. Why don't you come on in the back?"

Grissom limped his way to the back examining room and sat up on the table. The doctor gave him a cursory exam, then directed his attention to the injured ankle. "We're pretty low-tech around here, I'm afraid. The clinic exists mostly to take care of tourists with sunburn and hunters with minor bullet wounds. I don't have an x-ray machine, but from the way you describe the pain I'd say it's probably just a sprain. I'll put an air cast on it and you can follow up with your own doctor or ER when you get home. Vegas, right?"

Grissom nodded tiredly. "See, Sara? I told you. Just sprained."

The doctor ducked into an adjoining room and came back with a woman he introduced as his nurse, Sandy. She was a slim but strong looking woman in her 50's with frosted hair and was wearing an oxford shirt with a light cardigan. She busied herself prepping the air cast while the doctor and Grissom talked about what had happened.

"Sounds like quite an adventure," the doctor said when Grissom had finished his tale. "You know, I lived in LA for thirty years. I was an ER doc. Had my share of patching up gang-bangers and pumping starlets' stomachs. Sandy and I came up here to get away from the nuts. I guess we have to move to Antarctica next, eh, Sand?" he said with a laugh.

Sandy smiled at her husband. "You know, the refuge gets pretty heavy with tourists during busy season. I wonder why no one has run across this guy before?"

Grissom smiled. "There's an awful lot of land out there to get lost in. Trust me."

A phone rang in the front room and the doctor excused himself to answer it. He returned to the back with a pensive expression and asked Grissom to tell him exactly what happened in the truck crash.

Grissom re-described the accident, then asked, "Why?"

"Because that was a Detective Brass on the phone. He said your friend Nick collapsed."


	14. Chapter 14

"I did _not _collapse!"

It was the last voice Grissom expected to hear. Yet here Nick was, entering the clinic under his own power, but flanked closely by Warrick and Brass. And he looked ticked off. No, make that pissed off. And really pale- waxen even.

"I got dizzy for a second. Stop making such a fuss, would ya?"

"Nicky, shut up and let the doc take a look at you, _would ya_?" Brass growled.

Brass took Nick by the arm and practically marched him into the front room. The doctor introduced himself and escorted them to the back.

Grissom gave Warrick the eye, and gestured him over. "What the hell happened?" he quietly demanded.

"I don't know, Gris. We had just finished up and Nick went to pick up one of my equipment bags. He bent over and kept going, face first. And he looks like crap. Has he been like this the whole time?"

Grissom thought back to their 24 hours plus together. Brief images of Nick's pale face in the starlight and his surreptitious rubbing at his side when he thought Grissom wasn't looking. Really _wasn't _looking, truth be told. The last night and day had been a blur of pain, fear, and adrenalin. He was trained to see things. To pick up clues and watch people. And here his friend had been in trouble all along and all of his learning and training had failed him. Had failed Nick.

They walked back to the examining room where Nick sat fidgeting up on the table. Sandy had taken his ear temp and was finishing up with his BP. "101-7 and 100 over 70," she rattled off to her husband. After so many years together, married and professionally, they worked in tandem, their actions so comfortable they were practically choreographed.

Grissom looked at his friend in the bright office lights. There were beads of sweat on Nick's forehead, yet the sun had gone down some time ago and the office wasn't much warmer than the cool night outside. The scratch from his last trip up the tree stood out like a dark brown slash on his otherwise porcelain pale skin.

_How many times did he climb that damn tree?_

The doctor asked Nick if he needed help with his shirt. Nick waved him off and unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off with obvious pain.

Sara had leaned in for a glimpse of gratuitous beefcake, but let out a small gasp instead. Brass was more explicit with his utterance of "_damn!_" and Warrick let out a long low whistle at the sight before their eyes.

Nick's side was covered in an angry reddish-purple and yellow bruise. It covered his flank from his navel to midway around his back and ran from his armpit to disappear below his jeans.

Nick looked down at what had his friends all freaked out. His eyes widened a bit. At least now he knew what was hurting all this time. "Think the seatbelt bit me, is all."

"Jesus, Nicky. It didn't bite you- it took a chunk out of you!" was Warrick's response.

Dr. Lawrence probed at Nick's ribs and side. "That's had to have been mighty painful, young man."

Nick snuck a quick look at Grissom, then quietly nodded.

"The seat belt is an amazing lifesaving device usually. I don't think it was designed for the kind of rollover accident you two were in, though," the doctor continued.

Nick flashed back to being suspended on his side, dangling by the belt, the reinforced fabric cutting into his side.

"You have a fever and your pressure is pretty low. I have to be frank. I'm concerned about internal bleeding. If you were in Vegas you'd probably get a CT scan of your belly. I'm afraid we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way with a peritoneal lavage." The doctor shot a glance at Sandy. She went over and unlocked a small cabinet and took out a vial and a syringe. When she began to swab Nick's arm with an alcohol pad he became agitated. "What the hell are you giving me?"

"Well, Mr. Stokes. Since I have to stick both a large gauge needle and a tube in your stomach, I thought you might not like to be awake for it."

Nick paused, stunned by the doctor's pronouncement, and Sandy took the opportunity to shove the needle home into his bicep and push the plunger.

He flinched at the injection, then gripped the side of the table with white knuckles as he felt the narcotic flood through his body. He reeled a bit and the doctor grasped his shoulders. "Take it easy, Mr. Stokes. We'll take good care of you," he said reassuringly, and laid Nick back on the table. His patient was asleep a few seconds later.

"Sandy, would you prep him while I go scrub?"

His wife went over to a lower cabinet and retrieved a basin with a disposable razor and Betadine. She was so engrossed in her work that it wasn't until she had her hand on Nick's belt buckle that she realized she still had an audience. "You guys can wait out front. I promise you, your friend is in good hands. Gene was a top ER doc in LA before we came here. He's done this many times. I'll let you know when we're done." And with that she ushered them all out of the room and shut the door behind them.

The four worried friends gathered in the waiting room. "Did anyone call Catherine?" Grissom asked.

"Shit! We got so caught up. Damn, she must be worried sick, " Warrick said, running one hand through his curls.

Grissom pulled out his cell, the irony hitting him as he saw the four bars that meant full reception.

Catherine picked up on the first ring, overjoyed at the sight of Grissom's name coming up on her caller ID.

"Gil? Please tell me it's you. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, Cath. It's me. I'll tell you the whole story when we get back. I'm just not sure right now when that's going to be… we may be here a while."

"Why? Why aren't you coming home? God, Gil, we've been worried sick about you guys…wait. What aren't you telling me?"

_That's my Catherine. Sharp as ever._

"We're at a clinic in Dufurenna. The doctor here thinks Nick might be in trouble. He's running a test right now." _Running a test. Sounds like something I'd do in the lab. Cutting Nicky open is more like it. _"When we know more I promise we'll call, Cath. Just hold down the fort there, please?"

_Hold down the fort. That's what Brass said. Like I'm a frickin' frontier woman waiting for her men to come home from playing Cowboys and Indians._

"Yeah. The fort'll be here when you get back. Promise me you'll call the second you know _any_thing." Her voice softened. "This really sucks being left behind to worry, you know, Gil."

"I know, Cath. And I'm sorry. I'll call." And with that he closed his phone.

He tried to summon his inner supervisor. Thought about giving instructions to Sara and Warrick. Then realized that he was bone tired and didn't feel much like a supervisor at the moment. He just wanted to be a friend. A worried friend. And he wanted to do his worrying seated, preferably on that padded bench over there. He hobbled over to the bench and dropped down, putting his injured ankle in its cumbersome air cast up on the small coffee table.

Sara walked over to join him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can I get you anything? Have you eaten?"

"Granola bar, a lifetime ago," he grunted.

She looked over at the other two. Brass said since they had a wait he was going to get a hold of the sheriff and see if he had any news on the search. It was pitch dark out there, and he didn't hold out much hope.

Warrick said he'd see if anything was still open in town and grab Grissom something to eat and drink.

Sara opted to throw herself into her work, as was her wont. She said she was going to check out the sheriff's office to see what kind of set up he had for her computer. She'd try sending some stuff back to the lab in Vegas. "Give Cath and Greg something to do," she said with a small smile.

They left Grissom on his own. As he laid his head on the back of the bench he closed his eyes. It was odd- no traffic noise. Being in the woods, it was expected. But inside a building in 'civilization' he found it jarring to be surrounded by so much silence. So in the room designed for waiting, he waited.


	15. Chapter 15

Grissom's waiting had turned to dozing. It seemed an eternity, but was in reality about forty minutes later that Dr. Lawrence came walking out of the back room. Grissom awoke with a start and sat up. His eyes immediately took in the fresh blood…_Nick's blood…_on the front of the doctor's white lab coat. "How's he doing, Doc?"

"Well, the lavage results confirm my diagnosis. He's got blood and bile in his stomach cavity. It's probably a small tear in his liver. Under normal circumstances these things actually tend to heal themselves. Unfortunately, his pressure is dropping and his fever spiked another degree. Looks like biliary peritonitis. I've got him on antibiotics but he needs reparative surgery on the liver. I called Mercy Flight, our local airlift service, but there was a five car pile-up on the interstate and they have no choppers available. So looks like we make arrangements here."

"Doc, you've been great, and I don't doubt your skill. But what can you do here? This isn't exactly Desert Palms."

"Well, Mr. Grissom, the thing about medicine is that it doesn't really matter where it's practiced. It usually comes down to who practices it and how. We can get the bleeding stopped and get your friend stabilized until a med-evac becomes available."

Grissom found the man's confidence heartening. "I guess if surgeons can perform at the war front, you can do the job here, yes?"

"That's right, Mr. Grissom. And I'm bringing in reinforcements."

Sandy emerged from the back room, closing the door quietly behind her. She told her husband, "I got a hold of Tom and Jerry. They're on their way over now."

Grissom's face couldn't hide his surprise at the name of the 'reinforcements' and Sandy was quick to explain, "Tom and Jerry -- Jeraldine Aaron. Tom was a surgeon up in Seattle and his wife, Jerry, was an OR nurse. They came down to escape the rain," she said with a small smile. "He's awake if you want to visit for a bit. The Aarons should be here soon. I think we caught them before they'd gone to bed."

Grissom limped to the back and opened the exam room door. Nick was still prone on the table, covered in a blanket Grissom was pretty confident that Sandy had crocheted herself. There was a new IV in his hand and wire leads trailed from beneath the blanket at his chest to a portable EKG machine on a cart. A steel tray stood nearby covered in instruments and bloody gauze. He thought Sandy had been mistaken in her belief that Nick was awake, but then a pair of brown eyes opened blearily.

"Hey, Gris. " He looked down at the hand-knit blanket and the IV in his hand in obvious confusion. "They put something in my stomach, yeah? The test the doctor mentioned. Did I pass?" he asked with a wry grin.

"Yeah, Nick. You passed with flying colors. You did so well they're going to do a bit more for you."

"More, huh? That doesn't sound like I passed. What's going on?"

"Dr. Lawrence thinks you've got a tear in your liver. He's going back in to fix it up."

Nick accepted this information silently, taking it all in through his narcotic haze.

"I guess he's gotta do what he's gotta do, huh? Don't think I'm in much of a position to say no."

_That's you, Nick. To a tee. You always suck it up and do what you have to do._

"How are you feeling right now?"

"Pretty damn good, actually. Whatever Sandy stuck me with is some good stuff. You oughta try it, Grissom. No more pain."

"About that, Nick…why didn't you say anything about the pain before?"

"What was I supposed to do, Boss? Nothing to be done about it out in the woods. I kinda had a sneaking suspicion. I wanted that aspirin so bad, but I figured, why risk taking it, you know?"

Grissom thought back to when he took the aspirin back on their first day in the woods. To think that Nick was worried enough at that point to be concerned about aspirin's anti-coagulant properties.

"Why didn't you come back to the clinic with me?"

"I was feeling pretty good then. Flying, even."

Grissom remembered Sara's offhand comment in the deputies' truck about adrenaline. If he'd been thinking clearly he'd have insisted Nick come back with them. The doctor's diagnosis of peritonitis rang in his head. If Brass and Warrick hadn't been more aware and insisted that he come in…

He began to tell Nick of these thoughts, but for the second time in the last 24 hours, while he had been preoccupied with his own thoughts, Nick had drifted off to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Grissom emerged from the back room, passing Sandy on her way back in, to find that Warrick had just returned bearing two grocery bags. He placed them on the desk in the corner and began to unload them. "You found a 24 hour grocery store?" Grissom asked dubiously.

"Nope. These are courtesy of Mrs. Sheriff Green. I went with Brass to meet up with him - ask for a suggestion where I could try to get stuff this late. When I explained what I was doing he drove me home and introduced me to the missus. This," he said, unloading a lidded plastic bowl, "and this," unloading a large plastic storage bag, "are samples of Doris Green's famous chicken soup and sourdough bread." He pulled the lid off the plastic bowl and aromatic steam rose up bringing with it the strong scents of sage and onion. Grissom's stomach growled loudly enough for Warrick to hear and made him laugh. "I'll take that as a yes to the soup," he said, continuing to pull utensils and napkins from the bag, along with a thermos of what Grissom hoped was coffee, OJ, a bag of what appeared to be homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a container of spring strawberries. "There's another bowl of soup and some bread for Nick when he's ready to eat. My boy up and about yet?"

He paused in his activities when Grissom didn't answer right away. "Hey, Gris. What's up? What'd the doc say?"

Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Warrick had known his boss long enough to recognize that as Grissom's way of not having to see someone's face when he gave them bad news and he braced for the answer he dreaded to hear.

"He said he thinks Nick has a tear in his liver. He wants to go in to repair it. Doesn't think it can wait much longer."

"Here? In Mayberry? Is he gonna use leeches?" Warrick asked angrily.

"We may be in Mayberry, son, but I think we can do better than leeches," said a deep voice behind him.

Warrick turned around to see a tall distinguished looking black man with close-cropped salt and pepper hair standing in the doorway. In front of him was a shorter, more compactly built woman with her own short iron-grey hair. She had a kindly face and it made Warrick think of his Grams from years back.

"Tom and Jerry, I presume?" said Grissom with a small smile. Warrick flashed him a look like he'd lost his mind.

"I'm Tom Aaron, and this is my wife, Jeraldine… of course it had to be Jerry didn't it, dear? I warned her, when I knew on our second date that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. We tried "Deenie" for a while. It never took," he said with an amiable smile, sticking out his hand for the two men.

Introductions exchanged, Grissom went the next step to explain to Warrick who the two were, and more importantly why they had come.

Warrick fumbled out a quick apology, glad to hear of the two's professional background and expertise.

"We understand, son," Jerry said warmly, patting him reassuringly on the arm. "You're just worried about your friend. So, where are Gene and Sandy? In with Mr. Stokes?"

Grissom advised that Sandy was in with Nick, but he wasn't sure where her husband had gone. Jerry excused herself to go back to join Sandy and Tom went off in search of Gene, leaving Grissom and Warrick alone again.

"C'mon, Gris. Eat up. It's gonna get cold. We'll reheat Nick's when he's ready for it, right?"

Grissom nodded and headed over to his bench, Warrick bringing over the soup and bread. Handing Grissom a spoon and a napkin with a mock waiter's flourish, Grissom was struck with the memory of Nick doing the same thing last night. _Last night? It was only last night. _

He ate the first spoonful of soup and immediately thought that Sheriff Green was a lucky man.Tearing off a chunk of sourdough and plunging it into the soup before stuffing it into his mouth, he amended that thought to Sheriff Green being the luckiest man on the planet. He had polished off the soup and the bread before realizing, too late, that he had never offered Warrick any. He looked up regretfully, but before he could apologize Warrick laughed. "Don't worry about it, Man. You looked like you could use some real food. 'Put the spring back in your step,' as Grams used to say."

Belly now full of the warm hearty soup, Grissom found his eyes growing heavier, his body longing to stretch out somewhere. "There is no spring left in this step of mine, Rick. My spring is sprung," he chuckled to himself. Warrick recognized it as the exhaustion talking.

Sandy emerged from the back. "We're getting started soon, guys. I've been talking to Nick, and he's in good spirits. I'm sure this will work out fine. Mr. Grissom, there're some cots back there if you want to lie down for a while. You must be wiped out, and we'll probably be in there for at least a few hours. Get some rest. I promise you we'll wake you if you're needed."

"Yeah. G'on, Gris. I'm not going anywhere. Sara's buried her head in a computer somewhere. Grab a few Z's while you can."

Grissom couldn't fight the logic inherent in the argument, and let Sandy lead him to another back room where a few cots and screens had been set up. He sank down onto the clean white sheets, laid his head back on the pillow, and allowed Sandy to throw another one of her hand knit blankets over his legs. She shut out the lights and closed the door and he drifted off to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

Grissom awoke in the dark. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep. Looking at his watch would do him no good as he realized he had no idea what time he'd laid down.

He debated rolling over and trying to go back to sleep, but the air cast made it difficult to lie on his side. Besides, he felt pretty good. He was used to catching short naps to sustain him through double and triple shifts. He pulled himself up to the edge of the cot and let his eyes adjust to the dark. The only light in the room snuck in from under the closed door.

He limped to the door and emerged to find everything pretty much as he had left it. Warrick had found a deck of cards- _did he carry them with him? -_and was playing solitaire over at the desk. He looked up when Grissom entered the room, and checked his watch. "Not bad, Gris. You slept for two hours. How you feeling?"

He rubbed his face and wiped the sleep out of the corner of his eyes. "Not bad, thanks. Any word?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the exam room._ Operating room. _

"Not a peep. That's good, right?"

"I would think so, no news being good and all that," he sighed. "Any word from Sara? Any idea where she could be holed up?"

"She asked Green for the keys to the sheriff's office. Probably using his computer there. You know, she's not good at dealing with …stuff."

Grissom nodded. He was well aware of Sara's means of dealing. Or not, as the case may be.

"Gin rummy?" he asked his friend.

"Please. I _hate_ solitaire. C'mon over. Pull up a chair and take a load off."

The two men sat playing cards, trying to take their mind off things for a while, when the object of their earlier conversation entered from outside.

"Hey, guys. How's it going? Grissom, shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked.

"I grabbed a couple hours while you were gone. What have _you_ been doing?"

"I took the stuff the boys gathered from the scene and sent it back to the lab for Cath and Greg to run with. Got some interesting results. Where's Nick? He'll wanna hear this," she said, her smile dying as she realized he wasn't out with the other two.

"He's still in back. In surgery." He brought her up to speed and gave her a minute to digest the bad news.

"What results did you get?"

"Well, the scene was littered with prints, no attempt to hide them. I had Cath run them through AFIS. We got back hits on all three men. The first was…" she said, pulling a small notebook from her pocket, "a Marcus Chang. In the database as a former Chinese National, now a taxpaying citizen of San Francisco, California. The second came back to a Ronnie Hawkins. He was in the system for multiple arrests for poaching, and an aggravated assault several years back. His last known address is Klamath Falls, Oregon."

"And the third…?" Grissom asked, impatience slipping into his voice.

"Well, Grissom. I hate to break it to you, but your friend is unequivocally _not_ Saint Francis of Assisi. In fact, his name isn't even Francis. It's Terrance." She consulted her notebook again. "Terrance Polk. And _he_ is in the database for several reasons. This is where it gets interesting. I had Greg dig deeper and get some background on our Mr. Polk. First time he pops up on the radar is in East Aurora, NY, near Buffalo. He had a set of fingerprints taken at the _family's_ request when he was five. Seems the Polk family was a pretty big deal. Old money. Apparently, they were worried about kidnapping. The next time he pops up is when he's arrested at a college in upstate New York. He took part in a PETA raid on the college he worked at as a biology professor. Let the PETA people into the lab in his own department to free all the lab animals. Three years later, Mr. Polk is now at a smaller college in Pennsylvania. He's now a _theology _professor, arrested for attacking a guest speaker who had just completed a speech on …'The Merits of Animal Vivisection' or something like that.Let's see_…_next is an arrest at the Saint Louis Zoo. He assaulted a staff member, and tried to free some animals. His next arrest is in Omaha at a cosmetics company. Assault again. His most recent arrest was two years ago in Denver. The Zoo again. Ditto on the assault."

"He's been moving west for years now. And lucky us, he chose to stay a spell here in Nevada," Warrick observed.

"Hey, did you guys ever get a look at what was buried in the grave?"

"Yeah. A black bear. A female, I think. Not really up on my ursine anatomy. She had an obvious traumatic fracture to her hind leg and she'd been gutted." Warrick went on to describe to Grissom what the sheriff had told them earlier about the rash of poaching they'd been troubled with.

Grissom felt that unique pleasure he got whenever a case fell into place, or he had finished the last word on his crossword puzzle. "Our Mr. Polk must have come upon the two who had just finished killing the bear and removing her pancreas. Mr. Chang has connections in China. Mr. Hawkins has a propensity for poaching. Mr. Polk is not pleased with the death of 'the innocent' as he termed it, and decides on some biblical retribution." He pictured Polk burying the dead animal while the men were tied to the tree, bear traps on their legs; recalled the pile of stones he had placed there as a makeshift tombstone.

His pleasure was short-lived, however, as he looked up to see Gene Lawrence enter the room, new blood layered on the old on his white coat. The doctor's face was grim and Grissom's gorge rose in his throat, threatening to bring up Doris Green's famous chicken soup.


	18. Chapter 18

Warrick stood quickly, disturbing the cards on the desk in front of him. He'd seen the look on the doctor's face and felt it in his gut that something had gone wrong. A quick look at Grissom confirmed his boss had the same thought. "Hey, Doc. You're out early…what's going on?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Well, the tear was a bit more extensive than I first thought. It's repaired, but his pressure's dropping. Not much I can do if there's not enough blood in his system. Problem is, we don't have any blood banked here."

"What about a transfusion? He can have whatever I've got."

"We _could_ do a transfusion but we have no way of doing a type and cross match so… is there a way to find out Nick's blood type?"

Sara had her cell phone out and was dialing the lab when Grissom blurted out, "He's B negative."

Warrick and Sara stared at him. "You all gave blood at the beginning of your stay at the lab. We needed it in case of cross-contamination on evidence- bloody noses, cuts, that sort of thing. Warrick, you're O positive, Sara you're A positive. I'm O positive. Nick's B negative."

Dr. Lawrence shook his head. "Won't be able to use any of you I'm afraid."

"I'm O negative, for what it's worth…" came a voice from the front doorway. "Why do we care?" Brass asked, walking over to join the group.

Grissom filled him in on Nick's condition, and began to talk about clumping and Rh factors, but Brass just held up a hand. "I take it my blood will do, then? If Nicky needs a fill-up, he's welcome to it. Just leave me a quarter tank to get home on, huh, Doc?" He already had his coat off and was gamely rolling up a shirtsleeve.

"No problem, Detective. We'll leave you plenty."

"Please, Doc. You're gonna stick a needle in me, least you can do is call me Jim."

"All right, Jim. Right this way." He led Brass to the back, shutting the door behind them.

………………………………...

An hour or so later Sandy came out with Brass, a fresh gauze pad taped to his inner elbow. She poured him a cup of the orange juice and pressed some cookies into his hand. "You're a good friend, Jim. When this is all over I'm sure Nick will tell you how grateful he is."

"Hmph. The kid'll probably wonder why he's got a strong craving for twelve year old scotch and hard looking blondes," Brass joked.

She smiled and patted his shoulder, then hurried back to rejoin the surgical team.

Sara bluntly asked the question they all wanted to ask. "What's going on in there?"

Brass sighed. "The only medical knowledge I have is gleaned from watching ER. They've got him opened up, but I'll be hanged if I know what they're doing… … there's a _lot_ of blood, I'll say that much. I can see why he was down a quart or two."

"Why so long? I've donated plenty of times and it was never that long."

"Yeah, well I wasn't filling up a little bag. I was filling up Nicky. Arm to arm."

"Did the sheriff find anything on our friend?" Warrick asked, trying to change the subject.

"Nah. Guy's in the wind. Sheriff and his men know their stuff but they aren't finding this guy any time soon. Sara, how'd you make out with the stuff the guys got at the scene?"

She filled him in on what they'd learned about Polk and his history.

"So somewhere along the line this nutcase made himself a saint? He may be seriously disturbed but at least he's got a healthy ego, huh?" That was Brass. Keep bad thoughts at bay with jokes. "So what's going on here? Gin rummy? Always a favorite. Care to deal me in?"

The four sat playing gin rummy, badly. Half-heartedly. When they realized they'd played the last hand for twenty minutes without anyone making a meld they realized that no one was paying attention to the game and by mutual agreement the cards were put away.

Sara got up and immediately began pacing the small room. By the fourth circuit it was getting annoying but no one had the heart to ask her to stop.

The rear door opened and the four waited as Gene Lawrence came out, his face unreadable.

As the leader of the group, it was up to Grissom to ask. "So how did it go?"

"He's stable. The tear is repaired and the transfusion has his pressure back up. I don't think we'll need the airlift. If you guys can hang around town 'til tomorrow, you can bring him home to Vegas with you. If you can stand some more time here in Mayberry, Mr. Brown," he said with a small smile.

"Ah, he told you about that, huh? Sorry, Doc. Hey, you did all right by my boy. Thanks, Doc. I mean that."

"It felt good to work the old ER muscles a bit. I remember now why I stayed thirty years. So. You guys must be exhausted. I can make a call over to one of the motels in town; see if I can get you some rooms. At least you could catch a few hours of sleep. He won't be ready to leave until late tomorrow. Things oughta be opening up around seven for breakfast. Nothing more you guys can do here. Go. We'll hold down the fort here."

_The fort…_

Grissom realized they hadn't called Catherine in what…six hours? Had it been that long? _She must be going out of her head… at least I have good news to give to her now._

He pulled out his cell phone and gave her a quick call. She answered on the first ring and her voice had that worried mom edge to it. He filled her in on the good news, gratified that it was good news he could give. "We're bringing him home later today, Cath. I know…me too. I'll call when we get into town."

After hanging up he asked the others if they wanted to take the doctor up on his offer of a motel. The other three shook their heads.

"I think we should just stick around a while longer. C'mon. Poker this time. I'll even play with wild cards since we're playing with a girl," Warrick jabbed playfully at Sara.

"Deal 'em out, gambling boy. Five-card stud. Wait, Warrick…can you play without real stakes?" she asked innocently but with a wicked grin.

Warrick feigned an injury to his heart and smiled back, picking up the cards and dealing five to his three friends. This was more like it; like the poker games they'd get together in the break room on slow nights, or at Nick's place on their rare nights off together. Though having Grissom there was a new addition. And of course, there was someone missing. He loved playing poker with Nick because the Texan was completely unable to bluff; he wasn't capable of keeping that wide grin off his face when he'd get a hot hand, then he'd get ticked off when everyone would fold. _Gonna have to get another game together soon. It's been too long…_

………………………………

Time flew by and it was early morning. Tom and Jerry had already left for home, hands shaken heartily and thanks laden on them. Sandy had popped out to let them know that Nick was still sleeping but his pressure was good and his fever was down. She thought he'd be ready for transport by the afternoon.

Warrick ran out to the town café and brought back breakfast. He'd wanted to get pancakes, but thought it would be wrong since they were Nick's favorite, so he settled for bagels and muffins and more coffee was replaced in the empty thermos from Doris Green's kitchen.

Sara packed up the equipment into her Denali, glad that Brass had suggested they take two trucks. They'd been counting on bringing their guys home and had needed one truck just to carry the equipment.

Brass went out for a final check in with the sheriff. As he suspected, nothing. The deputies had transported in the bodies, the coroner's okay waived considering Lawrence was the coroner for the area. The local funeral home was arranging for pickup and storage until the victim's families had been notified. He noticed a news van from a mid-state affiliate show up. _Small town- surprised this was kept under wraps as long as it was…never takes long for them to smell blood… I'd better warn the gang to hole up in the clinic or they'll be getting a visit from a nosy reporter._

By the time he got back he was gratified to hear that the doctor had given the clearance for Nick to go home. Sandy went back to get him ready for the trip as everyone packed up their stuff, keeping an eye out for news hounds.

Sandy said Nick would need some help so Grissom and Warrick went back to find Nick sitting on the edge of the table, Gene Lawrence standing by. Nick's shirt was on but unbuttoned, leaving visible a thick white pad of gauze taped around his stomach. He was still pale and he also had a gauze pad taped to his face. His fingers explored the bandages on his belly then his hand rose to his face and he gave a questioning look to the doctor.

"The cut on your face," the doctor explained. "I threw it in for free. Nice tiny stitches. I worked in LA remember, the land of the vain," he said laughing. "You probably won't even have a visible scar."

Grissom grabbed the IV bag still connected to Nick's hand and Nick threw an arm around Warrick's shoulder and the two men helped him slowly out to the truck where they made him as comfortable as possible in the back seat. Grissom hung the IV bag on a hook over the door that was meant to be used for dry-cleaning.

The three returned to the clinic to thank Gene and Sandy. Gene had already called ahead to Desert Palms and they had a room all set for Nick.

Sara and Warrick took off in their truck, and Brass drove the second. Grissom climbed into the front passenger seat and, after checking to make sure Nick was set, pulled on his seatbelt and eased his head back, knowing they had a long trip ahead of them, but glad they were finally headed home.

A/N: One last chapter to go, just to sew things up - pun intended.


	19. Chapter 19

An hour outside of Vegas and Grissom had faded into a half sleep, mesmerized by the complete nothingness that was the outskirts of the city. A groggy voice spoke up from the back of the Denali. "Pancakes."

Grissom almost thought he'd dreamed it but roused himself a bit and bent back to look over the back of the seat. Nick was still sprawled out in the back seat, apparently asleep. Grissom looked at Brass to see if he had said anything, then distinctly heard it again. "Pancakes." He looked back again to see that one of Nick's eyes had opened and was attempting to fix on him. "You promised me pancakes when we got back," he said, the string of words an obvious effort.

"I remember, Nick. I promised. Full pancake breakfast."

"And…?"

"On me."

A small smile later Nick was fast asleep again.

………………………………...

Nick spent four days at Desert Palm and on the morning of his release Grissom picked him up and took him out for a pancake breakfast at the team's favorite greasy spoon diner. Nick had never heard any of the update on Saint Francis, so Grissom filled in all the details. Their talk and laughter was easy and comfortable- a far cry from the drive out before the big event. Grissom jokingly told him that since it was his fancy driving that got them in the mess in the first place, upon his return to work Nick's first duty would be to inventory and assess the equipment they'd managed to recover from the wreckage that was the Denali. He then reassured him that the $40K to replace the truck wouldn't come out of his meager Level 3 salary.

There was no further discussion of Nick's injury and the sacrifices he made. Occasionally, Grissom would flash back to Nick pulling him out of the wreckage and climbing that damn tree… and the brave stance he took when faced with the order to put the bear trap on Grissom's leg. Thankfully, there was enough to talk about that made any awkward pauses mere momentary lapses.

Breakfast ended with Nick's plate still partially full, clear evidence that he wasn't up to full speed yet. No one had ever before seen a pancake left on Nick Stokes' plate.

Nick's one regret was that they were on the best bird refuge in the state of Nevada, and he hadn't seen anything but a bunch of vultures. "Ugly turkey vultures. Heck, Grissom. We've got those in Texas!"

………………………………...

The grisly killings on the refuge had been big news for a few days or so and while most of the details of the CSIs' standoff were kept quiet, word got out, especially among the hunting community, that there was a madman in the woods seeking biblical retribution against those who would dare poach in those woods. The Ranger Service noted a sharp decline in the amount of poaching observed, and the wildlife on the refuge, bears included, flourished.

………………………………...

Red Dragon Imports LLC closed down soon after the death of its owner, Marcus Chang, and with murmurings of "_Huo bu dan xing _(Bad Luck is sure to be followed by more)", most of the employees fled back to China.

………………………………...

Three months later the two made a trip out to the refuge for a full day of bird watching, and a stop in town to visit old friends. Gene Lawrence smiled proudly when he saw how cleanly the wound on Nick's face had healed. "Told you there wouldn't be a scar!" Sandy gave Nick a big hug, happy to see his robust appearance. Nick took her aside to tell her how much he appreciated her helping him. Those times he was awake and lying on the table were some of the scariest moments he could remember and he was able to show his fear only when she was in the room. Her warmth and reassurances were truly the best medicine he received that night

………………………………...

A year later, the following spring, some hikers came across a body in the woods, not far from the clearing that had been the site of the deaths of Chang and Ronnie Hawkins. There was no need to bring in a CSI team for this body. The coroner, Gene Lawrence, was able to tell immediately what had killed this man. It was evident in the gashes and bite wounds to the head, neck and chest. The man had been mauled to death by a bear. Dental records were able to later prove conclusively that the body was that of Terrance Polk.

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A/N: Th-that's all folks! Hope you liked it. I had a blast writing it. I really appreciated everyone who took the time to review my work and am especially gratified to have received good reviews from Kristen999 and Designation, two whose names appear on my Favorite Author's list. Thanks also go out to Emrys and MS2 whose advice was used to "clean up my act" a bit. Next up is my take on Grave Danger … among the hundreds of others, I know, but who can resist the opportunity for some meaty Nicky angst? Not me!

Hope to see you there.


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